


All I Want For Christmas Is You

by Fledhyris



Series: Omega Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam Winchester, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Dean Winchester, Pheromones, Season/Series 10, Top Dean Winchester, pre-heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: It's their first proper Christmas in the bunker and Dean is going all-out with his preparations. Sam doesn't quite know how to tell him that this year, his heat will coincide with Christmas, so that neither of them will be terribly interested in turkey or presents. But it's being together that really counts, right?For some reason, the ABO muses prompted two Christmas stories, so if you haven't already, you might like to check out the previous work in this series; a timestamp going back to Stanford, and Sam's second Christmas without Dean.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Omega Verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1379326
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	All I Want For Christmas Is You

Sam watched with an indulgent smile as Dean went to town on a Christmas tree in the library. He’d found a real spruce somewhere, it had to be an eight footer at least, and he’d put it in an old steel drum barrel down at the end of the room, right in front of the telescope. Now he was busy hiding every inch of foliage with a gaudy chaos of baubles, tinsel and lights that had Sam wondering if he’d bought the whole season’s stock from Lebanon’s small hardware store. The visual mayhem did nothing to cover the scent of the tree though. The fresh, resinous smell wafted subtly through the pillared room, reminding Sam a little of Dad, but rather than making him sad, or tense, he found it grounding; homely. 

As he worked, Dean kept looking over at Sam, grinning and nodding; proud and excited as a little kid in his enthusiasm for the season. Sam did his best to be appropriately responsive. He got it; the bunker was their home, the only one they’d had since he was a baby too young to remember home, or a traditional family Christmas. Dean had begun nesting the minute he first stepped through the doors almost two years ago, minus a month. 

They were too late for Christmas when they first came into their legacy, and last year… well, Sam preferred not to dwell too much on the previous winter. He and Dean had been barely on speaking terms after Gadreel, and Kevin, and their first Christmas together in the bunker had been strained, to say the least. He couldn’t even recall if Dean had decorated then, but probably not. He was certainly making up for missed opportunities now, and Sam was glad he was happy, and busy, not dwelling too much on the baleful brand that stained him - from his skin right through to his soul.

Dean stood back at last to view his creative genius; tweaked a bauble here and there to settle the finishing touches. Sam couldn’t see that it would have looked any different if Dean had just upended the boxes of ornaments and shaken them down over the tree from the ceiling, but he kept that judgement to himself and gave his brother an emphatic double thumbs up.

“It’s great, Dean,” he approved. “Looks very festive. Wonder if this is the first time the Men of Letters ever had a Christmas tree in the bunker?” 

Dean stood with his hands on his hips, admiring the tree. Then he turned to Sam with a small frown. “We got anything yet to put underneath?” he asked. “Christmas tree’s no good without the presents; that’s half the point, looking forward to opening them all on the day.”

Sam coughed delicately; he’d been wondering when to bring this up, not wanting to derail Dean from his happy task, but he knew that come Christmas Day, neither of them were going to have the slightest interest in unwrapping gifts.

“Uh, I think pretty much the only thing I’m going to be opening at Christmas is you, Dean,” he tried to break the news with a little gentle (if off-colour) humour.

Dean stared at him, nonplussed, and then Sam witnessed the comical change in his expression as realisation dawned. His eyes opened wide and he bridled visibly, his cheeks pinking up, and Sam thought it cute as heck that after all this time, Dean still found the subject of his biology so embarrassing.

“Kinky,” Dean tried to deflect, waggling his eyebrows. Then his face fell. “Aw heck; you serious? You can’t possibly know for sure..?” he added, hopefully.

“You honestly didn’t realise?” Sam countered; but he wasn’t really surprised. Dean’s cycle was irregular and he was too disorganised to keep track himself; luckily, his brother had it all in hand. That kind of surprise could be disastrous for them, with their lifestyle; Sam charted Dean’s heats with military precision. He was absolutely sure - to within a one day margin of error. “It’s a good thing at least one of us pays attention,” he drawled. “I did mark it on the planner in the war room…”

“Interesting take on an advent calendar you’ve got going,” Dean quipped. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or scared,” and it was clear he was only half joking. “Actually scratch that, I’m just impressed. Who’d have thought it, geeky little brother organising my sex life?” He grinned, trying to wrestle back some dignity by teasing Sam.

“I’ve been organising it for nearly a decade,” Sam put him firmly but gently in his place. “And you know you’re grateful for it. Look - why don’t we bring a couple of mattresses in here, we can put them by the tree and then we can still enjoy it; any moment we actually have attention to spare. Be a shame to waste all your hard work.” This was the second upside to all his planning; no reason they couldn’t enjoy Christmas and a heat at the same time. 

But Dean didn’t look convinced. He was getting that tragi-stoic look of martyrdom that was always the first warning sign before he went and did something epically stupid, like making deals with the most powerful supernatural entity available. Hunching his shoulders, he turned half away from Sam and looked sidelong at the tree.

“Can’t have sex under a Christmas tree!” he muttered, oddly scandalised for a man whose gifts always comprised at least fifty per cent pornography.

“Why not?” Sam queried, reasonably. “Make a change from being holed up in your room for three days. Much less stuffy. And there’s the drinks fridge over there, less far to go for snacks. I think it’ll be nice.”

At the mention of snacks, Dean looked even more crestfallen. “I was gonna roast a turkey,” he said mournfully. “With all the trimmings. And a bacon vest. Because it’s not like we really celebrated Thanksgiving…”

One of the peculiarities of omega biology was a change in dietary preferences; around their heats, they went off most forms of protein, typically craving fruit and sugary foods. Turkey was decidedly off the menu; even bacon, the staple of Dean’s regular diet. Besides, he wasn’t going to be in any condition to cook when the day arrived, and Sam would have even less motivation to use the kitchen than usual.

“You could still enjoy cranberry sauce?” Sam tried. Okay, maybe he deserved the scathing look Dean threw his way for that one. But he’d stocked up on apples - Dean’s scent made him crave them almost as much as Dean did himself during heat - and there was time to make plenty of pies. With spices and ice cream, they would be festive enough.

“Maybe I should just go back on the suppressants,” Dean grumbled. “First proper Christmas we’ve had in - well, ever; and I go and ruin it with this stupid…” His lip curled and he made an inarticulate, self deprecating gesture. His scent curled toward Sam, sour and sad under the crisp aroma of the tree.

“Hey; Dean, no,” Sam protested softly, and he moved instinctively to his omega, wanting to comfort him. He hung back from actual physical touch though, because outside his heats; or the threat of imminent demise; nothing was better guaranteed to slam defensive walls up around his brother than sympathy or affection, and there was no way he would bear the two combined.

Sam sighed, a huff of frustration as he folded his arms to keep from reaching out, and watched the twitch of muscles as Dean tensed, ready to reject him. He was going to have to try to explain things on his own terms, then; he hated to manipulate Dean’s weakness like this, but it was the only way to get through to him. Dean would do practically anything for Sam, so better to play the yearning alpha card than dwell on the man’s own insecurities.

“Dean,” he said, a little more forcefully. His own scent swirled up around them both, earthy and sweet, and Dean visibly relaxed a little under the pheromonal influence. “Listen,” Sam went on, “I nearly lost you, again, just this summer. You died, Dean; worse than that, you were a demon.” He paused; could tell he had Dean’s full attention now. “What’s Christmas all about, really? It’s not the trappings - the food, the presents, the decorations. It’s about family, about being with your loved ones, and the miracle of life and hope. We nearly didn’t get to see this Christmas at all, either of us; and who knows what the future will bring? I’m just happy that you’re alive and safe right now, and I couldn’t ask for anything better under the damn tree than you. I know you hate what you are, Dean, what this; what being omega does to you, but you won’t hate it when it’s happening, and… I love it.” His voice softened persuasively, and he stared earnestly into Dean’s eyes, which were fastened on him anxiously. Sam played his final ace. “It’s my chance to hold you and - and show you how much I - how much you really mean to me. You don’t really wanna deny me that, at this of all times of the year, do you?”

Dean’s lip trembled, infinitesimally, and Sam tried to project every last scrap of emotion into his expression, fuelling what Dean termed his ‘puppy dog eyes’ that were one of the biggest weapons in his arsenal. Sam tried not to exploit his influence, he really did, but on occasion Dean was just too stubborn, and the outcome for both of them too significant, for it to be left to chance. His brother was quite capable of sabotaging everything out of his dogged refusal to come to terms with his own gender, and while Sam could empathise, and was happy; most of the time; to give him space to coddle his sensitive ego, right now he wasn’t having any of it. He was looking forward to this, damn it, and Dean should be too. He waited, knowing that he’d pushed just enough, letting his omega mull it over and come to the natural conclusion - at his own pace.

“I guess…” Dean said, eventually, trying (not terribly successfully) to sound diffident. “It’s not as though we’ve got anything else we could be doing.”

Sam nodded encouragingly.

“And the meds… they make me irritable, and that’s probably not a good idea, with this;” he brought his arm up across his chest and tapped it with the other hand. 

The edge of the Mark was just visible under the cuff of his shirt, shiny red, raised flesh, though no visible reminder was needed. Sam thought that symbol would remain like an indelible blemish on his memory long after they found a way to remove it. He nodded again, not daring to speak.

“And,” Dean perked up at a happy thought, “I can have eggnog, because I’ll still like that, even though I go off the whiskey.”

“Yeah,” Sam murmured, tired of nodding like a bobble headed dash toy, “and we can bake pie. I got in loads of fruit.”

Dean was looking considerably happier than he had just moments before. His mouth quirked, and a decided gleam entered his eye as he tilted his head slightly to meet Sam’s gaze. He breathed in deliberately, inhaling Sam’s scent, and a warm flush started to rise around his collar.

“Might not be enough time for baking,” he said, a distinct purr to his tone. 

“Oh?” Sam raised a quizzical brow.

“I mean,” Dean continued, sounding pleased with himself, “you absolutely sure you got those dates right, Sammy? ‘Cause I think… it might already be starting.” He looked up under his lashes, flirtatiously.

“Ohh.” Sam smiled, and stepped closer. He leaned over to get a good noseful of Dean’s signature, and Dean obligingly turned his head, baring his neck and the almost invisible tracery of his claiming bite, like the palest outline of a crescent moon against his throat. Sam nuzzled at the mark, snuffing softly and grazing it with the edges of his teeth, making Dean shiver.

“You don’t smell any different,” he said quietly. He trusted his calculations and it wasn’t beyond Dean to be messing with him, but hormones were fickle and heats could be brought on early; so there was an outside chance… He put a finger under Dean’s chin and lifted gently, tilting his face so that he could look directly into his eyes. “And your eyes look just the same too,” he murmured. Heat would bring out the green like ripening corn in sunshine, and a golden ring would develop around the iris, but there were no signs yet of either of those indicators.

Dean stared back into Sam’s eyes and licked his lips, a quick flash of tongue; then swallowed.

“But,” Sam said with a mischievous smile, “you do have the prettiest blush, right up to the tips of your ears…”

Dean snorted and his gaze dropped, but he didn’t back off. He raised his hands to fist them gently in the lapels of Sam’s shirt, holding him chest to chest, less than an inch between them. Honeyed desire rose thick into Sam’s nostrils over cinnamon and apple, and it didn’t matter that this wasn’t Dean’s heat scent, it didn’t matter at all; Sam was the one swallowing now, his pulse hammering erratically and his dick pressing against the front of his jeans. He focused on Dean’s lips, shiny and pink from just being licked, and put all his strength of will into staying still and letting Dean make the first move. He had really better not be messing with him; if he was, Sam’s retribution would be dire, just as soon as enough blood returned to his brain to let him think.

Dean leaned forward and just a little to the side, bringing his mouth to Sam’s ear. His breath was moist and warm as he murmured, “Think you said something about fetching in a couple of mattresses? We could give them a trial run, make sure they’re comfortable; you know, since we’ll be spending quite a bit of time on them in the next few days.”

“Next few days… so you’re not in heat yet?” Sam checked, although he already knew the answer. Alluring as Dean always was, his body - his scent - didn’t lie, and Sam’s plans didn’t need any last minute adjustment after all. So what was his omega up to..?

“Yeah, maybe not quite yet,” Dean admitted huskily, his voice sending thrills through Sam like a soft buzz of electricity. “So I thought, maybe I could get in a turn or two before, you know. Before I’m only interested in laying out for you like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Maybe show you one or two tips on the best way to handle a guy. You know, ‘cause it’s such a special time and all; you want the experience to be perfect, don’t you?”

Sam was vaguely aware that the tables were being well and truly turned on him, but frankly, he didn’t care. Dean coming onto him, outside heat, was a rare and precious occasion to be treasured, and he would have plenty of opportunity to satiate his alpha urges over the coming week. Right now, if Dean wanted to assert himself and be top dog to ease himself into things, Sam had no complaints whatsoever. Share and share alike; he might be alpha, but he had a prostate like any other man, and sex was sex whichever way the puzzle pieces fit. It was all about Dean and him, in a bed together - or, well, on a mattress - and plenty of that holding he’d spoken of, happening sooner than he’d hoped for.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he murmured against Dean’s ear, pressing a kiss to the shell. “So… mattresses? You up for disgracing the spirit of Christmas?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean breathed, and pulled Sam into a bruising kiss. He pulled back after a minute to say, “Gonna reconsider the angel topper on the tree, though. Just don’t feel right, having Cas staring down while we - I mean.”

Laughter bubbled up in Sam, despite the fire in his veins that had him wanting to throw down right here on the bare floor, bruises be damned. “You put an angel on the tree and you’re pretending it’s Cas?”

Dean shrugged. “Ain’t no other angel I’d put up there,” he said, “and he’s the only one of the whole sorry flock who’s ever watched out for us, so I figured it was only fair. But that was before your bombshell about what’s behind advent window twenty-four.” He grinned and winked, wiggling his hips up against Sam’s crotch and bringing it back to full attention.

“Yeah,” Sam gasped, “maybe we should… put Cas in the war room, he can hold the fort while we’re… otherwise engaged.”

“I’ll get right on that then,” Dean suggested, “while we go get those mattresses.” His mouth hooked up at the corners as he ground deliberately into Sam’s erection. “‘Less you can’t wait..? I could shove you up against a pillar maybe…”

Okay, Dean was definitely pushing it now and Sam bared his teeth in a mock snarl through his chuckle. “I tell you I’m looking forward to your heat and this is what you do to me?” he said.

“Well Sammy,” Dean shot back, “you know if you can’t handle the heat, you should probably stay outta the kitchen.”

“You’re not even IN heat yet,” Sam growled, “but when you are, trust me, I’ll show you how I can handle it.”

“Ooh, is that a threat, or a promise?” Dean asked, wiggling his eyebrows again and flashing his own teeth in a wide grin. At the smouldering look in Sam’s eyes, he stepped back; Sam lunged for him; and they got into an impromptu wrestling match, which segued seamlessly into a passionate, kissing embrace before it was clear which of them might have won.

Eventually, and not without a great deal of reluctance, Sam withdrew, but only enough so that he could speak. He held Dean within the circle of his arms and pressed his mouth to his hair, murmuring, “All right, c’mon. Unlike you, I need lube if we’re really gonna do this. And I’d like those mattresses, because neither of us is getting any younger, and the floor is hard.”

Dean squeezed his ass before pulling away with a grin. They managed to make it to Sam’s room, which contained two out of the necessary three items; and then they stayed there, because one mattress was sufficient for the next half hour or so. There was still plenty of time for them to make everything right for Christmas.

And this year, maybe for the first time since he could remember, Sam was really looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I did some extensive research to get the timing just right for this, the boys' first Christmas in the bunker. Using episode air dates is unhelpful as they don't match the canon timeline. Supernatural Timeline by Hell's Half Acre on LJ was an invaluable resource. https://hells-half-acre.livejournal.com/373711.html?view=6872271#t6872271 
> 
> They probably don't find the bunker until January in season 8, too late for Christmas; then in season 9, events concerning Gadreel (likely some time in the fall) would not have made for a happy, homely Christmas, since it's probably not until January again when Kevin's ghost begs them to make up. Sam cures demon!Dean in August, then 'Fan Fiction' (the musical) takes place during the fall semester. The timing of the next several episodes is vague, but any Christmas festivity would be shadowed if following 'The Things We Left Behind' - Claire's rescue from juvie and Dean's massacre of Randy & the loan sharks - so I'm putting Christmas in between 10x08 and 10x09. It's about as peaceful as the Winchesters' lives ever get.


End file.
